


I Put a Spell on You

by ComeAsYouAre



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAsYouAre/pseuds/ComeAsYouAre
Summary: The Nipton stripclub gets a once-in-a-lifetime performance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request:  
> "Okay... I found this on youtube:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwMhP3MKBxw&feature=related
> 
> Vulpes Inculta.... poledancing....???
> 
> I want this. I totally want this, Anons."
> 
> Originally Posted to:  
> http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4237.html?thread=6297485#t6297485
> 
> Author’s Note: First post to the Fallout Kink Meme! I hope I’ve done everything right! Besides posting years after OP’s initial prompt... I fudged the scenario a bit to get this to work, hopefully this doesn't totally ruin things for people. Basically, Courier Six is a regular visitor to Nipton. The rest of the timeline flows as dictated by the game.

Life sucks, no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. Anyone who said otherwise was a liar, a predator, or a real fucking idiot. And whoever thought settling down in the middle of the god(s?)forsaken desert was the biggest asshole that ever lived, the king of the crazies, or just profoundly fucking stupid. Courier Six would have VERY much loved to find that fucker and slap em silly for that idea. That was probably never going to happen though, given how long ago all this shit started. Some of the ghouls might know who to point the finger at, but you generally didn’t get to talk to them very much.

In any event, hating the fucker who started all this was a wasted effort. At this point, who really knew anymore? And it’s not like blaming that idiot would solve anything. That was just avoiding responsibility by shifting blame. However they all ended up the way they were was now was just as much their fault as anyone else’s. 

Not to say that any of it was at all fair. Far from it. But everybody makes choices in the end. Everyone from the roving bandits, to the organized bandits masquerading as law, to the hard worn people who tried to ignore anything that wasn’t their imediate concern. Blame, blame, blame. Everyone out here was mostly in it for themselves, as though a little kindness would get them killed. Sadly, that was often true.

It was why she tried to bring whatever meds she could spare to the prostitues and strippers over in Nipton. Even there, in what was supposedly the nicest place to live in the Mojave, the lowest of the low weren’t treated like the destitute people they were. Sure, there might be the occassional exhibitionist who got into selling sex for fun. But the vast majority of people who ended up in that line of work were there for all of the reasons desperate people sell themselves. So, it’s a choice, in a way, but not a great one or a fair one. Thinking about that as more of a choice however, usually means that ‘regular’ people could shift the blame onto the victims, even as they abused their services.

Why the girls at Nipton and not the ones in Vegas? It was a matter of personal safety, sadly. You try helping the girls and Vegas and see how fast you get into trouble. No kind deed goes unpunished there.

It’s kind of funny in a tragic sort of way, to be the patron of Nipton’s strippers and whores. At the end of the day, they’re all just people trying to scrape a living out of nothing. And for that kindness -- NEVER pity -- they helped her out a whole lot. They were the ones she turned to when she wanted the kind of info that people spill around the socially invisible. Moreover, they were the ones she turned to after dragging her battered ass out of Goodsprings.

So yes, she knew all the girls, and the occassional guy, too. She knew them, trusted them, and they all scraped by together. So, suffice it to say, it was more than a little disconcerting to see a strange man taking command of the stage like he owned the place.

“FILTH like this is beneath even the most deperate of men…!”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the girls scrambled quick as anything to clean what little there was. 

“This is absolutely UNFIT for even those of YOUR ilk…!”

Courier Six saw red at that point. She was good and ready to march right up and slap that bastard. But she’d been grabbed by one of the girls, desperately signalling her to do nothing.

THAT signal, for THIS treatment, with HER around was a very bad sign.

Courier Six looked back to the unknown tyrant. Loathe as she was to admit it, he was a damn fine sight in his suit and hat. Only a man that fit and that commanding, could pull off looking that fierce next to a half-naked woman frantically polishing a stripper pole. He was still an absolute bastard, though. Shame it went with such a pretty face.

Still, setting aside the superficial, who the hell could this guy be? The girls were terribly skittish yet rushed to obey him. His commandeering of the place, his unabashed poise in the face of blatant sexuality… was he a professional dancer, too?

She stared at him, trying to imagine it. Nope, she couldn’t see it. Not with eyes fiery enough to burn you, he wasn’t. You didn’t make much money by being scary in this line of work. Besides, she hadn’t seen many guys really getting into the stripping like the girls did. If a guy got too enthusiastic, he stood a good chance of being labelled gay. And while that didn’t harm anyone, the same could not be said for him if word like that went around. Another thing that sucked about the Mojave. Her gut clenched as she thought about poor Arcade, forced to hide out in the open about who he was. She wasn’t sure that even being one of the best, if not THE best, doctor around would save him. People are really wretched sometimes...

Her brain hit the brakes as she was whipped back to the present.

The stranger was appraising the dance pole with a very critical eye.

 _No._ He _couldn’t_ be…

Courier Six stared dumbly as the man removed hit hat and casually dropped it on the ground.

_What._

An unconcerned, elegant tug and the necktie slithered free of his collar.

_Wait…_

He made shrugging off a suit jacket look subtly sexy.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…_

All thought temporarily fled her as his chest was slowly bared to her. _Stars above,_ that body was pure _sex…_

He reached out lazily and gently, and firmly grasped the dance pole. It was as though he was taking charge of it. Telling it that he was going to do _things_ to it, and that it had no say in the matter. His aura was absolutely radiating _dominance_ over that pole, and everyone else in that room by extension.

Oh… oh, _my…_

Courier Six about died when those rippling muscles lifted him off the ground into a lazy spin.

She’d never seen the appeal in it before. She knew what women looked like. Men, too. She’d seen herself, and just about every person in this building naked at some point or other. She knew what bare flesh looked like. Or at least, she thought she did. Correction: she thought she knew what a great body _could_ look like. 

A sensuous leg unwound itself from around the pole.

Damn shame THAT was still covered. She wouldn’t have minded seeing more of that…

Wait. Hang on. _Fuck._ The Courier shook herself mentally.

Right. She was staring at a marvelously sculpted body. A work of art wrought in living flesh. His was not the body of those great big hulking brutes you might hire to look intimidating, nor like the lithe sinewy forms of dancers who worked too much and ate too little. Nothing like the sturdy build of farm hands or machinists.

What the hell did this guy do to get that fit? The combination of lean muscle and dangerously self aware assurance. The musculature in his hands… Graceful, firm, _controlled…_ You didn’t get hands like that from pole dance alone. She’d seen enough and bandaged enough hands around this place to know…

Oh my god, he’s climbing it to the ceiling…

This just wasn’t _fair!_ Not the most advanced move, but he’s just showing off how strong he is with such langourously _provocative…_

In pants. The Courier realized abruptly. He’s got _that_ much control and grip on a freshly polished metal pole through his _pants_ to manage that climb….

His legs must be amazing. At least HALF as amazing as those abs. And those arms. And…

She HAD to know who in all the blazing Mojave this man was.

Speaking of blazing. Was it just her, or was he staring her down?

Courier Six felt her mouth go dry. That was one HELL of a smoulder he was sporting right now…

The stranger smirked and slid-- no, _insinuated_ himself down that pole.

 _Fuck._ That bastard’s got me pinned to the floor with nothing more than his raw masculinity and he _knows_ it...

She watched as he went over to his discarded things and saw that for all his affected nonchalance, that there was an order to the things he’s abadonded there right before his little display. He nonchalantly threw his button-down shirt back on, and she mourned the loss of the sight of his finely muscled back silently. He tucked his shirt in, and she barely registered the shifting of fabric around his perfectly toned ass. He slid his arms into his jacket sleeves, giving the lapels a firm tug as he straightened it out, the fabric pulling at his shoulders as only she wished she could.

It wasn’t until he’d picked up his hat that he finally turned to face her. The man had left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, offering a tantalizing hint of what lay beneath. _So THAT was what the fuss with cleavage was about… But what’s the male equivalent called?_

The stranger smirked and stalked over to her.

_Oh god. What should I do?!_

He got within arm’s length of the Courier before his arm lifted as though to touch her. His hand snapped open at the last moment and she noticed it too late to properly react.

He’d whipped one end of his tie around her neck. It was a simple act that said everything. He had her, and she could do nothing. It was as sensual as it was terrifying, as unspoken statements went. Courier Six’s heart raced as he leaned in and whispered -- or was it growled? -- but a breath away from her face...

“Caught you.”

 _Oh…_ That _voice…!_

Thank goodness for dimly lit stripclubs. Hopefully it hid her blushing.

He chuckled darkly and straightened back up. 

“I’ll be seeing you around.”

Courier Six did not get to respond. He dropped his hat on her head, effectively silencing her. She barely recomposed herself in time to turn to see him leave. The last she saw of him was his hand running through his hair as he stepped out into the sunlight.

That magnificent bastard! How much more damn calculated could you get? Dancing on her terrified lust like a… like a...

It took her a second to realize she was still rooted to that spot.

_Damn him…!_

His tie was still wrapped around her neck. It was almost possessive, as though he was marking her in a way. She brought up a surprisingly steady hand and lifted his hat off of her head. A faint scent caught her nose as she did so.

Curiously, she sniffed the hat.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that it smelled of fresh soap. He apparently had a thing about cleanliness.

She took a second, less tentative sniff.

His hat smelled of soap, and of something faintly masculine.

It smelled of _him._

It smelled _good…_

* * *

  


Vulpes hummed softly to himself. Today was a good day. He’d shown those degenerate harlots how much more he was than they could ever aspire to be, and at their own game no less! Truthfully, such things were beneath him, and it had taken some putting them in their place, but this was a flawless victory if he did say so himself.

Not that he would ever tell Caesar. 

The frumentarius frowned. Actually, he ought to see to it that _no one_ would _ever_ tell Caesar.

Vulpes sighed. A shame he wouldn’t get to rub his superiority in all of their degenerate faces from time to time. That sort of information did NOT need to make the rounds of what passed for news in the Mojave.

He’d have to wipe them all out at once.

Perhaps he’d deal with the whole of Nipton while he was it, too. It was a wicked, debased place after all, and it whored itself to all comers with coin. No better than those insipid whores, really. But perhaps he’d deal with the whorehouse cleanly. They DID do him a great service after all.

How ironic that in all the Mojave, it would not be the Frumentarii, those NCR dogs, or any other faction in existence who wanted to lay claim to or kill the Courier, who would deliver her to him.

It was the lowest of the low, those who had nothing and no one else, who had betrayed the only one who cared about them. She was the one soul that they could not afford to lose.

And they had practically served him her _heart._


End file.
